


An Unfortunate Series Of Circumstances

by Gyrwolf



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Derogatory Language, Loss, Multi, PTSD, Slurs, Stereotypes, Torture, Violence, War, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26787475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyrwolf/pseuds/Gyrwolf
Summary: Deployment Story of Joseph Boscorelli, before he was indoctrinated into the BAU.  No characters from Criminal Minds are in this story.





	An Unfortunate Series Of Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time posting on this site, and I'm trying to get used to the formatting, I apologize if this is hard to read.

“Ay Boscroelli, ya fuckin’ Wap, let’s go, hurry the fuck up!”

Sims called, his head poking out the rig, helmet flopping over his eyes. The convoy was waiting to head out, and Joe Boscorelli had forgotten his IFAK. He could hear the jeers and the yelling from everyone in the group giving him shit for taking so long. Eventually, he just said “fuck it”, and decided to leave without it, he’d find it when they got back. He’d been on plenty of convoy ops before, and he’d been fine. The war was supposed to be on the down slope as it was anyway, they’d be fine without it. He sprinted out to the APC, and hopped in.

“About goddamn time..” Sims joked, a grin on his face. 

“Maybe I was looking for a razor to shave that porn stache off your face, god knows it needs to go.” Bosco jested back, which earned a chuckle from Rye standing on the .50 CAL up top. 

“Shut the fuck up Bosco, I know you’re just jealous. My stache is legendary, known around the world!” Sims said, the APC bouncing as they left the base, the front gate closing behind them.

“You sure it’s the stache and not your spreading of the clap around the world you’re talking about?” Rye interjected from above, causing Sims to reach behind him and punch Rye’s leg.

“That was ONE time motherfucker, ONE! TIME!” Sims said as he readjusted in his seat. 

“One time that keeps repeating, and repeating, and repeating..” Bosco said under his breath, a smirk growing on his face.

“What?” Sims asked, while Rye laughed harder up above, swinging his leg out of Sims reach. 

“Nothing, I said nothing at all..” Bosco said, recoiling for the punch that Sims threw at his arm. 

“You all are a bunch of buffoons, I hope you know that, buncha clowns up in here.” The rear gunner, Hathaway, spoke up, trying to remain serious but the slight smirk on his face and the crack in his voice gave him away. 

“Aww Hath, you’re coming out of your shell. I didn’t even know you could talk!” Sims jested, causing the rest, Including Hathaway to chuckle.

“I’m full of surprises Sims, but not nearly as surprising as knowing you’re the one behind the clap spread in Kandahar.” Hathaway said without skipping a beat.

“Alright motherfucker, listen! Listen, alright. I am a legend, my stache is legend. Hell, alright yes, I am that guy, but god damn - I’m legendary ain’t I? Spreading that shit around?” Sims started, before joining the others in laughing at himself.  
The joking and bullshitting continued for about 75 miles, Sims saying off the wall shit, while Rye, Hathaway and Bosco both retorted in their own way, riling Sims up even more, it’s what they did. It wasn’t until they saw the silhouette of a city in the distance that the joking dwindled down, and that that was heard was the rumbling of the tires on the hot pavement. They had learned their previous deployments, and convoy runs that open road was usually safe, if there were no dunes or rocks or mountains to go through, however, cities and towns, and other rural areas were littered with Al Qaeda, sometimes ISIS, regardless, there were always assholes that were trying to light them up. 

As the silhouette of the city faded and the details of buildings and homes came into view, the crew began to lock and load. Making sure their weapons were loaded, ammo was nearby, and that their full battle rattle was on and secured. Rye pulled the pin on the .50 CAL, allowing him to swing a full 360 degrees, making sure he could get to whoever decided to shoot at them from in front and behind them. Hathaway took the safety off his rifle, pointing the muzzle out the window and began looking at the rooftops for any signs of insurgents. Bosco did the same, but his weapon was the M60, and he made sure his belt was free of kinks or anything that could potentially cause a jam. Sims did his routine of forming a cross over his body with his free hand, and shoving some gum in his mouth, before placing both hands on the wheel. For some stupid unknown reason, it was Operating procedure to roll slowly through cities, Bosco guessed it was so the enemy had plenty of opportunity to get their licks in. So the convoy had slowed to a crawl, and the city was eerily quiet, so quiet in fact that the flaps of wings of birds echoed off the building walls. 

“I don’t like this bro, this is fucking freaky.” Sims said, manically chomping his gum, his eyes scouring the rooftops and open windows, before focusing back on the road. 

“Something ain’t right-” Hathaway agreed, his finger methodically tapping on the trigger of his weapon. Every member of the APC was growing more anxious by the minute. Every second that crawled by felt like an eternity, every pair of eyes were focused on open windows, roof tops, and the road ahead. Thankfully they weren’t on point in this convoy, but they were number three in line, and the roads were narrow. As they say shit rolls downhill, so if the first vehicle became disabled, the convoy was stuck and would have to fight their way out. So for the next thirteen minutes and fifty two seconds, their vehicle was quiet and focused. Making sure to eye every open area for insurgents. 

The point vehicle had just made the last turn on their route, and the openness of the desert could be seen again. They could almost sigh a breath of relief.

Until Rye sneezed, causing everyone in the vehicle to jump sky high. 

“God DAMMIT RYE!” Sims said, readjusting in his seat once more. “I almost shit myself!”

The vehicle was silent for a few milliseconds before the chuckles started to roll. The chuckles turned to full on nervous laughter as the convoy had begun to clear the last of the buildings and made their way back into the open desert. 

“And to think, we waited all that time back at base for you to grab that fucking IFAK.” Sims said, punching Bosco in the arm once more. 

“Guess we didn’t need it after a-” Bosco began, before an explosion went off, rocking the ground, and sending the lead vehicle into the air and crashing down on top of the second one, right in front of them. The explosion was followed by a barrage of bullets, seemingly raining down on them from above.

“COVER!” Bosco shouted over the incoming fire, and over the sounds of Rye letting off the .50 CAL above, the shells raining down into the seats and floorboards below. Aiming the 60 out the window, Bosco let loose on the rooftops, aiming for anything that moved. The pings of the bullets ricocheting off the APC caused him to duck back in for cover. Another explosion rocked the earth, and Bosco felt his world turn upside down as the APC had been targeted by an RPG, hitting it at the rear drivers side, and flipping the vehicle over. 

Minutes, or seconds passed, hell it could’ve been hours for all he knew, but the ringing in his ears was unmistakable. Wait, no, ringing in his ear. He could hear ringing in his right ear, but nothing out of his left. He brought his hand up to the side of his head, touching his left ear, and feeling warm liquid oozing out of it. He shook his head, attempting to free himself from the upside down he’d awaken to. 

“Sims! Hathaway! Rye!” He called, stumbling to get to his feet, the ringing in his ear and the stuffiness in his head too much to even attempt to hear a reply. The world was ringing, spinning, and it wouldn’t stop. A sudden stinging sensation, brought him jolting back to reality however, as an enemy bullet grazed his left side, sending him dropping to the ground behind the flipped vehicle for cover. He peeked around the vehicle to see if he could pinpoint where it was coming from but there was too much smoke, and- and- 

“Rye?” Bosco questioned if he was seeing things correctly. It was a man that looked like Rye, but he was bloody and stumbling. “RYE!” Bosco called, more sure this time, forgetting his own safety, he sprinted out from behind the vehicle, bullets hitting the ground around him. Bosco tackled Rye from behind, and pulled him into cover behind what seemed to be a dumpster. 

“Rye what the fu-” He started angrily, but caught himself when he saw, actually saw the state Rye, his friend was in. Bosco had to blink a few times to believe this is what he was seeing. The left side of Rye’s face was contorted and bloody, the eye missing from its socket and currently dangling by his chin. His jaw hung slack as if out of place or broken. Rye’s one good eye was filmed over, dead looking, the thousand yard stare he usually carried was even more distant now. His uniform was covered in blood, lacerations on his arms and legs. Bosco vomited. It flew from his mouth before he had a chance to stop it, projectile spewing all over the dusty road. 

“Rye- man.” Bosco started, and Rye turned his head towards him, as if he heard him but didn’t remember that Rye was his name. Bosco shuddered, before taking a deep breath, and spitting out the rest of the vomit from his mouth. He could help, he remembered he’d brought his- FUCK. No. It was back at base. “Dio, dannazione!” He cursed in Italian. Slamming his hands on the ground. He knew he should’ve brought that piece of shit. 

“Bos- Bosco-” Another voice called out, and Bosco turned to see Sims stumbling towards him. 

“No! Sims stay down! Stay there, I’ll come to you!” He yelled, and Sims complied, he looked far better off than Rye, but still wounded. He looked around for something to keep Rye there, anything so he wouldn’t wander while he attempted to get Sims. 

“Fuck..” There was nothing, he’d just have to take the chance that the shock would keep him in place. “Rye, fratello, if you can hear me, I gotta go get Sims. you gotta stay here man ok? Please, madre di Dio, stay here.” Bosco looked directly into the eye that was still attached, and nodded, patting him on his shoulder. “Stay put you son of a bitch.” Again he nodded, before peeking around the corner of the building, for a few moments there was no gun fire, no RPGS, no more explosions, but he could hear more of his convoy yelling out for help. In the time it took him to look over Rye, the insurgents had completely overtaken them. Every vehicle was either on fire, or disabled in some way. He cursed under his breath, before darting out into the open, shots rang out, hitting all around him, but missing. He was able to take cover behind his overturned vehicle, slamming his back into the grill, and turned his head to Sims. 

“It’s good to fucking see you, ya fucking Wap.” Sims said, grinning, then turning into a wince. 

“Where are you hurt Sims?” Bosco said, his eyes dancing around Sims body. 

“Fucking everywhere bro, my legs, my neck, my god damn back is killing me!” He said, followed by a coughing fit. A grimace followed, and a moan. “Fucking fuck..” He leaned forward and Bosco saw the problem immediately. Something was sticking out of his back, a piece of metal from the APC, or maybe some other form of shrapnel. 

“Madre di cazzo..” Bosco breathed out.

“None of that Italian mumbo jumbo shit Boz, what is it?” Sims growled, more worried now than angry. 

“Some kinda shrapnel striking out your back.” Bosco said. 

“Well then pull it out, get it the fuck out!” Sims said, as he wiggled to get his arm behind him and attempted to pull it out himself. 

“No! Sims, stop. Fucking STOP!” Bosco yelled, grabbing Sims arm, and forcing it away from the piece of shrapnel. “We don’t know how close it is to your spinal cord, or major organs, you dumb mother fucker. If we pull it out you could bleed out, sever your spinal cord and be paralyzed, or just fucking keel over. Got it?” The words felt like molten lava coming out his mouth, but Sims needed to hear it, and gradually, Sims agreed nodding his head.

“Good, we gotta get back over to Rye, he’s- he’s in bad shape.” Bosco leaned out from behind the vehicle, causing a few bullets to ping off the metal. He ducked back in, and turned to Sims. “You go first, I'll provide suppressing fire, and be right behind you.” Bosco said as he pulled his side arm from his leg holster. Sims nodded, and got ready to run. “On the count of three, ok? One… two… three.. GO!” He shouted, and Sims ran in the direction of the building where Rye had been left. Bosco stood from behind the vehicle and began firing in the direction the shots from earlier had come from. He emptied his magazine before Sims had made it to safety, he ducked back down, catching his breath, and reaching for another magazine, before he felt a cold metal barrel on the left side of his face. 

“Drop your weapon. Now.” A very heavy arabic accent followed the pressure to his temple. Bosco turned his head slightly to see a man, dressed in all black, burqa covering his face staring down at him. Bosco clenched his teeth, he’d heard of what happened in captivity with these guys, and he’d rather take a bullet to the face than die in his own shit and piss. “Now!” the man repeated, pressing the gun harder into Bosco’s temple. 

In a split second, Bosco hit the gun away from his temple, and the shot that rang out went wide. Scrambling, he went for the insurgents knees, tacking him to the ground, attempting to get him in a grappling match. The two men struggled against each other, the weight of his equipment, and the open wound in his side giving Bosco the disadvantage. Still, he pursued, punching the insurgent in the face, slamming the man's head into the hot pavement. The man retaliated though, using Boscos recent wounds to his advantage, and punching the wound in Boscos side, causing the Italian to yelp out in pain, and recoil backwards. Both men stumbling onto their feet. Bosco grasped his side in an attempt to stop the bleeding as his head grew heavy, and his vision began to swim. He refused to be held captive, he refused to be used as propaganda. He refused. 

As much as he refused though, his body refused its current state even more, and Bosco dropped to one knee. He breathed heavily, and watched as the man in black grew closer to him as his vision blurred, he threw out a half hearted swing that missed, and the man in black kicked out. His foot connected to the side of Bosco’s head, and sent him sprawling to the ground. In his last bit of consciousness, Bosco saw more men divulging on Rye and Sims, he heard Sims cursing and yelling and then silenced by two pops of a gun. 

The last vision Bosco had before succumbing to the darkness was that of Rye and Sims, slumped over each other, and blood pooling beneath them.


End file.
